


True Colours

by annagarny



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Karaoke, M/M, not s3 compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annagarny/pseuds/annagarny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles manages to stay quiet for the entire journey to the loft and gets his video game privileges re-instated. <br/>He then proceeds to abuse said privileges and subjects the pack to Singstar.</p><p>Werewolves do karaoke!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I never want to deal with a wendigo ever again. Never. I don’t care if it’s threatening to eat my spleen I am not touching another one.”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“No, I will not shut up. That thing had breath like a dumpster full of diapers in the middle of summer, not to mention the crazy eyes. Your eyes are freaky enough but that-”

“If I let you choose the radio station will you please shut up for five minutes?” Derek’s obvious exasperation finally seemed to get through to the teenager.

“How long until we get to the loft?”

“... about five minutes.”

“If I keep quiet for the rest of the trip can I pick the video game for tomorrow instead of the radio station?”

It had become something of a ritual for the pack over the summer - on Friday nights, everyone would convene at the loft Derek had rented and they would play video games - multiplayer or co-op, alternating first every time someone was killed, but after Stiles went three whole weeks without dying and played against the entire pack, twice, the rule was changed to either death or level completion. Stiles had also been banned from choosing the game after the debacle with Hannah Montana:The Movie and his rather terrifying familiarity with the levels. Derek considered how long it had been - almost three months since that incident - and decided that Stiles had been punished enough.

“Sure. Starting now, and you have to be quiet until we’re in the loft.” Derek shot Stiles a look out of the corner of his eye and saw the teenager press his lips together, biting down on them until they became a thin line, breathing heavily through his nose for a few seconds before his heart rate settled and he relaxed against the leather seat, staring out the window.

Derek had thought that five minutes of silence would be relaxing, and it was for the first little while. But after about two miles he started to become a little unsettled, a silent Stiles was a stranger, something foreign and odd. Thankfully the journey was short enough that Derek pulled into a parking space before he got completely freaked out by the quiet, exiting the car perhaps a little quicker than he normally would. Mounting the stairs towards the fifth floor (the elevator was not only unreliable, it smelled funky thanks to *something* Scott had apparently rolled in during the last full moon) he kept well ahead of Stiles, struggling to keep himself under control, it was so odd to be followed by this silent version of the kid.

The moment they crossed the threshold of the loft, Stiles let out a breath he’d apparently been holding for a while and started to babble about victory and making Derek play an embarrassing game, most of which Derek didn’t actually absorb, he was too busy relaxing into the normalcy of Stiles talking again.

“Okay, so I’ll bring it with me on Friday night, you make sure the whole pack is here and everyone has to play, no exceptions! Even you, Uncle Re-Peter.” Stiles pointed two fingers at the older werewolf, sprawled on the couch and staring at the evening news, bored.

“I’ll play if Derek does.”

“Yeah, sure, fine, whatever. You bring your stupid game and I’ll pay for pizza.”

“Sweet! Friday night, it is so on!” Stiles practically skipped across the loft to snatch the keys for his Jeep off the table before exiting at speed, muttering about controllers and finding batteries, which, again, Derek ignored.

“See you tomorrow!” he called from the door, and Derek did respond to that.

“If you’re here any earlier than five thirty I’m revoking your game-choosing privileges again.”

“Ugh, fine, whatever. Tomorrow night, then. Bye!” He tugged the steel sliding door closed with a grunt and Derek listened as he descended the stairs, humming something vaguely familiar to himself as he took most of them two at a time, only stumbling once and scrambling to a halt at ground level, whistling that same tune. Derek didn’t move from where he was standing near his bed until he heard the Jeep start up and leave the street, at which point he allowed himself to relax and joined his uncle on the couch, stealing the remote and flicking away from the Sacramento news feed, settling on a much less thought provoking cooking show.

“Don’t even, it’s been a shitty day and you really should have been there to help us.” he said to Peter even as he opened his mouth to object.

“Fine, fine. I’ll take myself home, now that the almighty Alpha has returned to his lair.”

“I don’t even know why you came here in the first place.”

“Someone had to hold down the fort.” Peter told him, making his way to the door.

“If you ate all the Oreos again I’ll let down your tires.”

“Now, now, no need for violence.”

Derek just grunted at him and turned his attention to the perky brunette who was doing something complicated with a pork leg and string, choosing to ignore Peter as well in favour of resting a little.

 

Stiles was right - dealing with wendigo’s sucked.

************************************************

The next afternoon he was at the store, dammit Peter I told you to stop eating all my cookies, when the familiar citrus-cinnamon-chemical scent of Stilinski hit him and he felt the sudden urge to try and hide somewhere. He didn’t get the chance, though, a bare two seconds after he’d caught the scent Stiles rounded the end of the aisle and stopped dead, mouth hanging open as he stared at Derek.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, voice low as he pushed his half-full cart towards the werewolf, reaching out to poke at him almost as if he couldn’t really believe that Derek was doing something so mundane as grocery shopping.

“Uh, cookies.”

“Cookies? What? Use your words, dude!”

“Peter ate my cookies.”

“...that’s still not an explanation, really.”

Derek sighed. There wasn’t going to be any getting out of this in a hurry, so he gave in to the inevitable.

“Peter ate all the Oreos and if I don’t have any tonight then Erica’s going to be pissed off.”

“Right. You might want to get the double-stuf ones, then. Those are her favourite.”

“How- never mind, I don’t want to know how you know that.” He plucked three packages of double-stuf Oreos off the shelf and added them to the basket of junk food dangling from his other hand.

Stiles’ eyes tracked the movement and widened when he saw the contents of the basket.

“Dude, I know you’ve got the whole healing thing going on but come on. Frozen lasagna and Cheetos? At least get some fruit!” Derek took a moment to glance at the contents of Stiles’ cart and wasn’t really surprised to find fresh vegetables and packages of lean meat, given how Stiles was always on his Dad about his diet and keeping his heart healthy.

“I’m not making carrot sticks and hummus for game night, Stiles.”  
“So all of this is just for tonight? Really? Even the extra-crunchy peanut butter and those frozen dumplings?”

Derek raised one eyebrow at Stiles but, as had been happening with alarming frequency since the end of the summer, it was ignored.

“If I bring carrot sticks and celery will you provide the dips?” Stiles challenged him, and Derek sighed.

“Fine. Where the hell are they kept?”

“Oh, god. That’s it, I’m getting you a cookbook for your next birthday.”

“You’re three weeks late.” Derek told him without thinking, then bit his own tongue hard enough to draw blood when he realised what he’d let slip.

“What? Dude, we missed your birthday? Oh, man, Peter didn’t even say anything!”

“That’s because I threatened to kill him if he told anyone.”

“Again?”

Derek rolled his eyes, but nodded.

“Well, I’m getting you a cookbook anyway. You need to survive on things other than frozen dumplings and whatever woodland creatures you eat on the full moon.”

“Stiles, for the fiftieth time-”  
“Not listening. Come on, the hummus is in the refrigerator.”


	2. Chapter 2

That night, true to his word, Stiles arrived with two Tupperware containers full of chopped up vegetables and fruit and his backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Don’t think I forgot, dude, it’s my turn to pick the game!” he pushed past Derek into the loft proper and dumped the food on the coffee table before making his way to the entertainment centre, tugging the PS3 part-way out from under the TV and fiddling with it. Derek didn’t approach, turning his attention to the sticks of fruits and veggies in the containers.

“What am I supposed to do with these?” he asks, tugging the lid off one container and considering the rows of neatly sliced carrots and celery within.

“Get the hummus out of the refrigerator and put it on the table. Leave the chips and cookies in the cupboard until after we’ve had pizza. You’ll be surprised how many people eat the carrot sticks just because they’re -dammit! Ow!”

“What?” Derek spun around to see Stiles on the floor sucking on one of his fingers.

“Just a small electric shock, the wiring in this place is abysmal. Unplug the Playstation, will you? I want to get this set up without losing any hair.”

“Right.” Derek deliberately didn’t look at the contents of Stiles’ backpack, which were spilling out onto the rug in front of the TV. The game cases looked suspiciously bright and cheerful, and he paused at the outlet, a thought striking him.

“You haven’t found a Strawberry Shortcake game or something, have you?”

“What? No! Scott broke my copy of Hannah Montana after I bought it to game night and told me that he’d actually hurt me if I bought anything else aimed at pre-teen girls. Tonight we’ve got something much better!”

“Do I want to know what it is?” Derek pulled the plug out of the wall and held it up so that Stiles could see that it was disconnected.

“You’ll find out when everyone else gets here!”

“So, in about three minutes.”

“... if your wolfy hearing is correct, I’ll say yes. Go get the dips, I need to finish setting this thing up.”

“Fine, whatever.”

A few seconds after Stiles has plugged the console back in and managed to get the TV tuned in to the right channel the service elevator whined to a stop and voices could be heard over the screeching metal as the doors were opened. The fact that they used the elevator meant that Lydia and Jackson had come this time, neither of them liked taking the stairs particularly. Derek can pick out seven heartbeats in the hallway, barely audible over the raised voices - Jackson and Erica are arguing about something she allegedly did to his Porsche - so he knows that the whole pack is here.

Even Allison is here tonight, it’s only the third game night she’s attended and she’s still not comfortable in Derek’s space. In deference to that he will usually sit as far away from her as he can, and makes a point of never getting between her and the exit as a courtesy. Either she’s noticed or Stiles has pointed it out, because tonight she shoots him a tiny smile before settling down on the end of the couch closest to the door, letting Erica flop down in the armchair to her right.

It’s progress.

He’s so distracted by setting out the dips (and two packets of potato chips, these are teenagers after all) that he doesn’t hear the set of feet coming up the stairs until Peter is almost at the top.

“Dammit.” he muttered, and repositioned himself so that he was between Lydia and the door. She noticed, of course, and her lips thinned a little before she shook her head slightly and set her shoulders.

“It’s fine, Derek, really.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, knowing that she was still uncomfortable around the elder Hale.

“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve if he tries anything.”

“Okay-” Derek is cut off from replying by Stiles leaping to his feet, two microphones in one hand and a game case in the other as he shouts.

“SINGSTAR!”

The response is immediate and highly varied. Isaac looks intrigued, Erica’s smirk widens, Scott looks at Allison for a response before smiling a little when she does, though his grin widens when he catches some of Stiles’ enthusiasm. Boyd’s expression doesn’t change much aside from a slight uptick on one side of his mouth before it smooths out again. Lydia rolls her eyes and Jackson’s expression turns murderous, and he begins to shout straight away.

It takes Derek a few seconds to realise that the shouting is directed at him.

“-not allowed to pick the game after that stupid Miley Cyrus thing he kept beating everyone at!”

“We had an agreement and he held up his end of the bargain; Stiles gets to pick the game this week.”

“And Stiles has picked Singstar. Suck it up, lizard-boy.” Stiles stuck his tongue out at Jackson and Derek was forced to abandon his post near the door to step between them as Jackson lunged towards the human kid, eyes flashing blue.

Peter timed his entrance well, slipping in through the door just seconds after Derek left the threshold. Lydia watched his progress around the loft with narrowed eyes, but he avoided her gaze, eyes on Derek as he took a seat near the windows, the table a physical barrier between him and the rest of the pack.

The four full moons that had passed since the night Jackson had finally been turned to a wolf had been good - Derek had established himself as Alpha proper, and it barely took a flash of red eyes to have the betas obeying him, though Jackson was still resistant to his influence somewhat and Scott only listened when Derek turned the Alpha mojo up to eleven.

Jackson subsided when Derek got into his space and everyone sort of resigned themselves to karaoke night.

Erica, for some reason, volunteered to go first.

Of course, when she made her song selection it became rather obvious why she’d stood up so fast - she scrolled through the options without pausing and Derek felt his eye twitching - either she had  been conspiring with Stiles or it was a very unfortunate coincidence and she happened to have her own copy of this game.

Though he did have to admit a little relief when she bypassed the Pussycat Dolls and landed on the Ramones. At least I Wanna Be Sedated was easier on his ears than Beep.

When she was done, bowing with a flourish and fist-pumping when she saw that she’d beaten the previously held high score on the game, she turned to face the rest of the pack.

“So what do I win, Stiles?” she demanded, putting her initials into the leaderboard with the other controller. “We’ve got to have some rules, here.”

“Uh - okay. You get to pick the next song and who sings it. But you have to get a high score!”

“Oh, awesome! Jackson you’re up!”

“What, no! No way!”

“Those are the rules, Whittemore!” Scott crowed, looking to Derek for some support.

“As long as nobody tries to make me participate you can all do what you like.”

“Derek! Come on, make him play!” Erica whined.

“Don’t-” Jackson’s objection was cut off by Stiles.

“What are you, chicken?” he asked, and Jackson’s shoulders stiffened.

“That’s it, Stilinski. I’m going to fucking own this and make you sing something from the Spice Girls.”

“Dude, you have  no idea how much I can rock -”

“Just pick him a song so they stop with the pissing contest, will you?” Derek interrupted, and Erica smirked, making her selection and tossing the microphone at Jackson.

The opening bars of Hot Chocolate’s You Sexy Thing began to blare through the speakers and Jackson glared so hard at Erica that he almost missed his cue.

Unfortunately for Stiles, Jackson could actually sing and a few short minutes later he found himself, mic in hand, waiting for the lyrics for Who Do You Think You Are to pop up on screen.

Things only went further downhill from there; Scott was made to sing Warrant’s version of Cherry Pie, and to nobody’s surprise went easy on his girlfriend, asking Allison to sing Crazy Little Thing Called Love. She passed the baton to Boyd, and despite his deep baritone he did well enough on No Rain to make Isaac sing Sk8er Boi.

Derek glared when his eyes slid towards the alpha, but evidently Isaac’s self-preservation instincts had vanished, because he was scrolling through and paused at Duran Duran with a significant look.

“No.” Derek forestalled him even as he highlighted the song title.

“Come on, man! I just sang Avril Lavigne, the least you can do is indulge us in some eighties rock!” Isaac pleaded, ignoring the glower as Derek lowered his eyebrows.

“No.”

“Derek! You have to! You said you’d play the game I picked!” Stiles jumped in, adding his voice to the chorus, and he found himself staring at the entire pack pleading for him to sing the stupid song.

“I am not singing that song. I’ll sing next, but not that.”

“Aw-”

“Anything else?” Stiles piped up, and Derek began to regret every life choice he’d made to lead him to be sitting here with a PS3 microphone being thrust in his direction.

“...within reason.” he qualified, taking the mic gingerly and getting to his feet.

“How about a duet, then?” Stiles picked the other mic up from where he’d left it in his backpack in front of the TV and flicked it on, waiting until the console registered the second player.

“Whatever.” Maybe if it was a duet his half-hearted singing would be less noticeable.

“Yes! I can never get the high score in this one by myself.” Stiles flicked through and landed on (Don’t Fear) The Reaper, making Derek roll his eyes.

“COWBELL!” Scott shouted, cracking up laughing, almost falling off the sofa and being joined by Isaac as Stiles doubled over where he stood, a reference that apparently only the three of them understood, but the laughter was infectious enough that Derek was smiling in spite of himself.

It wasn’t until he heard it, halfway into the second verse, when he remembered that stupid SNL skit and cracked up himself, shocking Stiles so much that the kid dropped his microphone with a screech and the track stuttered to a stop without the second player singing along. Admittedly, Derek had also stopped singing so the track would have paused, anyway, but when Stiles gave up, too, the entire thing petered out into silence.

“Oh, man, what do we do, now?” Stiles demanded, half-glaring at Derek as they both continued to laugh over the sound of the game resetting to the menu.

“Stiles, dude, you should sing that song - the one you got the high score on! The one - that one your mom-” Scott cut himself off at that and the room went silent for a few seconds before Stiles slowly smiled.

“Yeah, yeah I guess. I think it’s on here, somewhere...”

“You- you don’t have to, man...”

“No, I want to. It was her favourite song, I haven’t heard it in a while. It’ll be kind of nice.” Stiles took the Player One microphone from Derek and picked up the other controller, navigating through the menus with enough ease and certainty that it was obvious he knew exactly where he was going.

Seeing him come to a stop on Cyndi Lauper was a bit of a surprise, though. And it was gratifying that not even Jackson made one disparaging noise when the stripped-bare intro of True Colours began to play.

Stiles turned his back on most of the pack, meaning that Derek was the only one who could still see his face as his eyes tracked the lyrics flashing up on the screen. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has gotten bigger than I thought it would. Please don't kill me - there's one more chapter to go, though.

Watching Stiles sing, the rest of the room seemed to almost float away until it was just the two of them, Stiles half-watching the TV but mostly looking at the floor, his eyes occasionally flicking up to catch Derek’s gaze, breaking away before Derek could really get a read on what his expression was.

He didn’t need the lyrics, clearly knew the song by heart, but after the second chorus he turned deliberately and lifted his face so that he was staring right at Derek when he sang a few particular lines.

_If this world makes you crazy_

_And you've taken all you can bear_

_You call me up_

_Because you know I'll be there_

He turned back to the TV after that, finishing the song and setting a new high score, taking a bow to the applause from the couch, and handed the microphone to Erica after he selected _I Don’t Feel Like Dancin’_ for her to attempt - there weren’t any high scores because Stiles could never hit the high notes consistently enough to finish the track. 

Stiles resumed his seat at the end of the couch, the closest to where Derek was slumped in the recliner, and kept throwing him surreptitious glances as Erica owned the Scissor Sisters. About halfway through the song Derek decided that he couldn’t take it anymore; nobody else seemed to notice the tension now strung between him and Stiles... or if they did notice they were being more polite than he’d become accustomed to and were pretending to ignore it. He got to his feet and stepped around behind the couch, making his way into the kitchen muttering about m&m’s and being summarily ignored by the pack at large even as Stiles’ eyes tracked his movements.

It wasn’t until he stepped into the kitchen proper that he realised that someone else had noticed the tension, and was apparently lying in wait for the opportunity to bait his nephew.

“Meaningful song choice, there.” he commented from his perch next to the refrigerator, deliberately blocking the cupboard where Derek kept the snacks.

“Scott picked the song.” Derek told him, keeping his voice low, even though the rest of them would be hard pressed to hear over the music, through the narrow kitchen door and clear across the loft.

“And the boy proceeded to make doe-eyes at you through the whole thing. He knows what he’s doing, Derek, and if you can’t smell it-”

“Stop it, Peter.”

“Are you telling me that you’re going to ignore that blatant display?”

“He doesn’t know what he’s doing, so yes, I’m going to ignore it.”

“Good luck with that. He positively reeks of arousal whenever you’re around-”

“He’s a teenager, he’ll get over it.”

“I don’t think so, from what I’ve heard he harboured a longing for Lydia for more than a decade.”

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “Is there any chance of you dropping this?” he asked, knowing that it was futile.

“Not really.” Peter opened the fridge next to him and pulled out a beer, and Derek snatched it from him before he could even pop the top, stalking out of the kitchen and back to his seat, glowering at the world in general as Isaac took the mic and the intro for _Kings and Queens_ began to play.

Stiles looked over at the Alpha, noting the beer, and his eyebrows drew together in concern. Derek rarely drank - it had virtually no effect on him thanks to how quickly werewolves’ livers metabolised the alcohol - and when he did it was a sign that something was really bothering him.

Derek resolutely ignored the whiskey-brown eyes boring into the side of his head and took another swig from the beer bottle; at least he’d grabbed one of the micro-brewed pale ales and not some of that swill that Peter had put in there to tempt the teenagers, concentrating on the TV screen as Isaac sang along with Jared Leto.

Peter came over to join the rest, hovering behind the sofa and watching as the film clip flashed across the screen behind the lyrics and ignoring the looks that Lydia shot him over her shoulder. When the song ended he spoke up.

“Isn’t anyone going to let me sing?”

“No-” Derek wasn’t quick enough, though, because Isaac, eager-to-please puppy Isaac, was already nodding.

“You can go next!” he told the elder werewolf, and Peter flashed Derek a look of pure triumph. Why he was so happy about being allowed to participate was anyone’s guess, but Derek wasn’t happy - anything that made Peter look so enthusiastic was not to be trusted.

Though his face fell slightly when Lydia picked up the controller and began to navigate through the song options - landing on _Loser_ and starting the track before Isaac could object that it was supposed to be his choice of what to make Peter sing with.

Derek grunted, mildly amused, and the rest of them howled with laughter, suddenly enthusiastic about Peter playing with them. Derek just got to his feet, swirling the dregs in his bottle and making for the kitchen with the intent to dispose of it and maybe get a soda this time. He was distracted by Peter’s off-key interpretation of Beck and so didn’t actually hear the footsteps following him, didn’t realise that Stiles was in the kitchen, too, until the door clicked closed behind him.

Derek rounded on the teenager without thought, having heard the doorknob engage he was half expecting an attack so his claws and fangs were out before he realised that it was just Stiles, just a human boy who he now had pinned against the closed door, one clawed hand gripping a bicep while his other forearm was pressed against Stiles’ throat.

“Whoa -whoa!- Derek, man-” Stiles gasped, eyes wide.

“Shit, Stiles, don’t you know better than to sneak up on a werewolf!?” Derek demanded, turning away from him as his hands began to shake.

“Sneak up- dude do you know how hard you guys are to sneak up on? I think that’s the first time I’ve ever managed to do it and I wasn’t even freaking _trying_!”

“Dammit - what do you want?” Derek clenched his fists as he looked over his shoulder at Stiles, who was now biting his lip and staring at his feet.

“Uh-” and suddenly the words seemed to dry up. Derek couldn’t help himself.

“Don’t tell me that a direct question is the way to make you shut up at last?”

“Hey - I’m just trying to figure out how to word things, okay?”

“Stiles-” Derek’s nose twitched and he turned fully to face Stiles - the teenager flinched, pressing himself further back into the door that he was still leaning against.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, eyes squeezed shut as if he were afraid of the answer.

Derek stopped dead, confused.

“What?”

“... are you okay? You just seem kind of... off... lately. Like tonight - usually you just pretend to hate whatever game we’re playing, but until I made you sing BOC you really didn’t seem interested... and now you’re drinking beer and you never drink, like ever when we’re all here, even though you really like beer-”

“Stiles, I’m okay, really.”

“But-”

“Peter’s been pissing me off a lot more than usual, so I’m not really in the mood for games, and thought I’d have a beer because I got this six pack from a micro-brewery, if I don’t drink them soon then Peter’s like as not to steal them from the fridge.”

“Oh.” Stiles resumed staring at his shoes, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Okay, sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“It’s alright, it’s kind of nice, knowing that someone’s worried about me.” Derek wanted to bite his own tongue in half the moment that little tidbit left his lips.

Stiles smiled and straightened up a little, still against the door but definitely more confident, now, shoulders back as he half-smiled at Derek.

“I wouldn’t say worried, more concerned for my own health. When you’re pissed off you tend to get very short tempered.”

“Oh, really?” Derek cracked the top of another beer, considered for a moment, then held it out towards the teenager.

“... you do realise that offering me a beer is not the way to make me less suspicious, right? Especially after that discussion you had with my Dad-”

“Five seconds and I’m taking it back, Stiles.”

Stiles took the beer and quickly swallowed a large mouthful, while Derek got another out and noticed that there were only two left- Peter must have taken one earlier.

“What made you want to sing that song?” Derek asked after a minute or two of quiet, and Stiles looked up from his contemplation of the beer label.

“Well, uh, like Scott said, it was my mom’s favourite song.”

“You really miss her, huh?”

“Yeah.” Stiles admitted, quietly. “I just feel kind of bad talking about her in front of you because, well, you lost everything, both parents, your whole family and I’ve still got Dad.”

“Doesn’t make your loss any less important or painful.” Derek found himself peeling the label on his beer as he spoke, dropping tiny pieces of paper onto the tiles.

“You sound like my therapist.”

“Yeah, well, Laura made me go see a shrink in New York, some of it must have stuck.”

“Must have.” Stiles was peeling his own beer label, now, the pieces joining Derek’s on the floor between them.

They stood there in silence, except for the noises of the pack as another track started up on the TV, drinking their beers. Derek kept his eyes on his feet and his drink for the most part, until he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he glanced up to find Stiles staring at him, his jaw set in a determined line.

“What?” he asked, wiping the back of one hand across his mouth.

“I- dammit.” Stiles stepped forward, covering the width of the kitchen in three long strides, and put his beer down on the counter behind Derek, his arms caging the werewolf in as he did so. Before Derek had time to react properly Stiles tilted his head to one side, muttered “Please, just, don’t kill me.” and pressed his mouth to Derek’s.

The beer bottle smashing on the tiles was enough to make him jump back, eyes wide, hands flapping in apology as Derek tried to gather himself enough to form a cohesive sentence. 


	4. Chapter 4

“I’m sorry- please don’t kill me-” Stiles was backing up as he spoke, hands held up as if to protect himself or placate a presumably angry Derek, and when he reached the door he turned and fled, slamming the kitchen door shut behind him and sprinting to the stairs, ignored by the rest of the pack as they shouted at the television.

Derek stood, frozen, in the kitchen with beer slowly pooling around his bare feet. It took him a solid twenty seconds to shake his head and realise what had happened, at which point he dug his toes into the linoleum and bolted after Stiles, shamelessly taking advantage of his supernatural abilities and leaping down the stairs fifteen at a time until he overtook Stiles somewhere between the second and third floors. He ignored the shouts that followed them from the top of the building - Scott had finally realised that Stiles’ heart rate was through the roof - and cornered the human boy at the junction of the stairwells.

“Derek- I’m sorry, that was really inappropriate and it won’t happen again-”

“I’m not mad.” Derek told him, taking a half step backwards so that Stiles had a clear line to access the stairs again if he wanted to.

“... you’re not mad?” Stiles’ voice was small and quiet, directed at his own feet.

“No.”

“You’re not going to kill me?”

“No, Stiles.”

“No throat ripping?”

“No throat ripping, though an explanation might be nice.”

“Uh...” Stiles shifted his weight from foot to foot a couple of times before glancing up at Derek, setting his jaw and looking the werewolf square in the eyes. “It just felt like the right thing to do, okay?”

“Why did you think I’d kill you for... doing that?”

“Well, Isaac told me what you did to Erica when she did that, so-”

“When Erica did it we were training, and it was neither wanted nor appreciated.”

“... so are you saying that you wanted me to kiss you?”

Derek took another step backwards, refusing to meet Stiles’ eyes as he considered his response.

“Can I just say that it wasn’t unwelcome?” He shifted his weight and clasped his hands behind his back, staring at his feet, curling and uncurling his toes in discomfort.

“What the - you can’t say something like that without explaining it properly, dude.” Stiles objected, and Derek forced himself to look up.

“Well, maybe if you did it again, and gave me a little warning this time, I might not just stand there like a statue.”

“How much warning? Like, a registered letter?”

“Like you have about three seconds to make up your mind if you want this or not, Stiles.”

Stiles’ eyes widened a little as he processed that, and by the time Derek had stepped back into his personal space he was nodding, and smiled into the kiss that Derek pressed against his mouth.

Neither of them heard Scott (and the rest of the pack) thundering down the stairwell. They came to a rather abrupt halt when Scott saw what was happening, that Derek had Stiles pressed against the wall and Stiles had one hand tangled in his hair while the other was sliding down his back towards the waistband of his jeans.

“Oh, hell no!” Scott exclaimed, then yelped as Erica barreled into his prone form, followed by Isaac. Scott managed to stay upright through those two impacts, but when Boyd joined them at a rate of knots the four of them tumbled down the last flight of stairs in a tangle of limbs that would likely have killed one of them had they not all been werewolves.

Lydia, Allison and Jackson were still a few flights higher and Stiles heard Jackson shouting something as he twisted his face away from Derek’s to look down at the bundle of werewolves in a pile at his and Derek’s feet.

“Do you mind?” he asked, poking Scott with the toe of his sneaker.

“DUDE.” Scott exclaimed, half pained and half incredulous. “WHAT THE HELL?” he shouted up at them from beneath Boyd and Isaac. Erica had somehow leapt clear of the fray and was standing behind Derek.

“Don’t even, McCall.” Stiles told him as Derek buried his face in Stiles’ t-shirt, pressing his nose against the boys’ collarbone and trying to ignore the fact that his face and ears felt like they were on fire, taking deep breaths of Stiles’ scent and memorizing how it changed when he was happy.

He may or may not have been rubbing his jaw against Stiles’s skin at the same time, a not-so-subtle scenting of the younger man, but that was purely incidental.

“Come on!” Scott’s voice was pitched higher now, almost a whine. “What the hell are you doing, making out with Derek?”

“They finally did it!?” Lydia’s voice floated down from two floors above and Stiles huffed in annoyance.

“What do you mean ‘finally’?” he demanded, ignoring the pile of betas behind Derek in favour of craning his neck to try and see where Lydia was.

“Oh, come on! You two have had UST happening for months!”

“What!? No we- what do you mean months? I only realised I was bisexual like six weeks ago!”

“Yeah, but you’ve been eyeing Derek’s ass since Christmas!” Erica put in. “Not that I blame you.” she let her eyes trail down her alpha’s back and Derek rolled his eyes a little, face still pressed against Stiles.

“Oh my god!” Scott yelped, finally getting to his feet as Erica sprawled herself out on top of Isaac and Boyd, making herself comfortable and watching the show. “I don’t care that you’re gay or whatever, but seriously, Derek!?”

“Uh, Scott, the guy’s kind of right here? Can you save your freakout for another day?”

“Yeah, come on, give them some privacy.” Boyd put in, getting to his feet and grabbing Isaac and Scott each by their upper arms, pulling them up with him.

“But-” Scott began, but looked up and caught Stiles’ gaze. He deflated slightly, then leaned forward to poke Derek. Once the alpha had turned enough to look at him, he narrowed his eyes.

“Hurt him and you’ll have to deal with me.” Scott told him, and Derek just nodded. He didn’t trust his voice, unsure if he’d squeak or burst out laughing at the threat and unwilling to risk it either way.

“Great, my honour has been defended without my asking and you’ve sufficiently embarrassed me. Now get.” Stiles kicked at Scott and the other boy jumped out of the way, rolled his eyes and mounted the stairs.

“Just try and keep it down, we don’t want to hear Stilinski screaming.” Jackson put in.

“Who says I’m the screamer?”

“OH MY GOD!” Scott squawked.

“I can get pretty loud, we might want to take this somewhere else.” Derek muttered.

Stiles smirked as they heard a clatter from above them; it wasn’t clear who, but someone had landed face-first on the stairs upon hearing that little tidbit.

"Serves them right for eavesdropping."


End file.
